What is love?
No seriously, what is it?
Is it a shy, timid dove?
Maybe a baby throwing a fit?
It is indeed a most curious thought of mine,
And I don’t mean the love you share with kin,
Nor with fond and funny friends,
But the one which connects with your soul,
To create wings hueful and divine.
The one that makes a maze in your heart,
For you to follow wherever it may lead.
On days when my life is like a crystal lake,
Paraylized with ice,
This flustering thought continuously knocks,
Bangs on the door to my mind,
Asking me to ponder about it,
to wonder about it.
My mind keeps escalating down,
Like I’m slowly sinking into the hands of the ocean.
It’s as if these mysterious drapes of cerulean,
Lure me in,
Deeper and deeper.
However there is no bottom pit where I can reach,
There is no floor where I can stand,
And there is certainly no key I can find,
To unlock the answer.
I simply had enough of the area I’ve explored,
And reluctantly swim back up.
This simple question of mine is like an alarm clock,
Constantly reminding me to dive in again.
To dive into these cold,
To dive in to this formless,
Never ending body of thought.
I can’t decide anymore,
Is love an enchanting melody?
Is it this painful, prickly poison,
People are willing to drink?
Perhaps love is a bird,
ready to take off,
And soar with all its might.
These are the thoughts I go to,
To form a desperate replacement,
A frustrating knock off,
For the answer I cannot find.
So tell me,
What is love?